Always Present
Today, I took a mental health day from work. It's been a stressful week. I had my interview (for my own job) as our company continues its restructure. The interview itself was pretty routine, and in point of fact, I was told I would probably get a small promotion at the end of the process. I should be more happy about this, but I know that several people I know and really like are about to find out that they will not succeed in this Dilbertesque right-sizing of our company.
I just needed a break. And I took it. From everything.
Oh, I went to mass this morning, but the rest of the day was decidedly without Christ in my thoughts. My mind was filled with the world and it's pleasures. And my reflections upon these things was not in thanksgiving for blessings received, but for my own pure selfish interests. Sinful thoughts and even a few sinful actions.
At the end of the day, in the quiet of the evening, I had another thought. He's still here. I can't hide from Him, nor do I want to. I'm reminded of St. Paul's words in 2Cor12:7 when he talks about a thorn in his flesh to keep him from being too elated. It was almost as if the Lord was showing me, today, that, yes, I can have my life all to myself, and, gee, look how fallen I really am, but still He is there for me.
Christ calls us to come to Him like a child; yet so often we run away from Him like a spoiled brat. I imagine Him sometimes looking at me with patient eyes saying in slight frustration, "Are you done yet?" The tone of His voice implies that I should know that my flights of fancy are futile. He knows that my return to Him is one of sheepish humility and wonderment of why I ever strayed.
He doesn't condemn me when I return. He doesn't berate. He doesn't lecture. He doesn't give me a "see I told you so." He just opens His arms and holds me as a father holds his child, and smiles. The wayward two-year-0ld has finally calmed down. He lifts me upon my feet, steadies me, and simply says, "Try, again." There is a peace to be found in that.
It is a grace to have this understanding, and I am keenly aware of that. And I cannot help but repent of my sins and rejoice at the same time. Such a dichotomy of feelings. Remorse and joy. Those same arms stretched out to embrace my return were stretched out to die for the sins I commit. I will discuss this day with Him at the sacrament of forgiveness. He will give me His body to strengthen my weak soul.
The world is a fascinating place full of so many marvelous things; yet I know all of its treasures cannot come close to equaling the simple, pure love offered by our savior. He is truly always present. Always.
I just needed a break. And I took it. From everything.
Oh, I went to mass this morning, but the rest of the day was decidedly without Christ in my thoughts. My mind was filled with the world and it's pleasures. And my reflections upon these things was not in thanksgiving for blessings received, but for my own pure selfish interests. Sinful thoughts and even a few sinful actions.
At the end of the day, in the quiet of the evening, I had another thought. He's still here. I can't hide from Him, nor do I want to. I'm reminded of St. Paul's words in 2Cor12:7 when he talks about a thorn in his flesh to keep him from being too elated. It was almost as if the Lord was showing me, today, that, yes, I can have my life all to myself, and, gee, look how fallen I really am, but still He is there for me.
Christ calls us to come to Him like a child; yet so often we run away from Him like a spoiled brat. I imagine Him sometimes looking at me with patient eyes saying in slight frustration, "Are you done yet?" The tone of His voice implies that I should know that my flights of fancy are futile. He knows that my return to Him is one of sheepish humility and wonderment of why I ever strayed.
He doesn't condemn me when I return. He doesn't berate. He doesn't lecture. He doesn't give me a "see I told you so." He just opens His arms and holds me as a father holds his child, and smiles. The wayward two-year-0ld has finally calmed down. He lifts me upon my feet, steadies me, and simply says, "Try, again." There is a peace to be found in that.
It is a grace to have this understanding, and I am keenly aware of that. And I cannot help but repent of my sins and rejoice at the same time. Such a dichotomy of feelings. Remorse and joy. Those same arms stretched out to embrace my return were stretched out to die for the sins I commit. I will discuss this day with Him at the sacrament of forgiveness. He will give me His body to strengthen my weak soul.
The world is a fascinating place full of so many marvelous things; yet I know all of its treasures cannot come close to equaling the simple, pure love offered by our savior. He is truly always present. Always.
posted by David Jackson | 9:21 PM
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